


the floating city.

by bluejune



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Suicide, am i fake deep? perhaps!, but no one dies! it's just a major topic, jackson is mark's safe place, mark is sad as always, this is sweet at the end it's not sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 09:07:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14951736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejune/pseuds/bluejune
Summary: There was a sort of sweetness to this moment. This bridge was something familiar. Something he was supposed to see on his trips home for Christmas and think, Oh, look at that. Something he was supposed to drive over on his way to his new dorm. Something that he had known, and was supposed to know, and would know forever. Because he was going to jump off it.





	the floating city.

**Author's Note:**

> daughter of the sun, love me twice more.

The day the world collapsed, Mark was barely breathing. It was 7 in the morning, and he was staring blankly up at his ceiling. Just trying to get some control. Over himself, over his breathing, over his life. Over anything. He stared, and he inhaled, and he exhaled, and he waited. There was a bit of light coming in from his window. Just faint enough to make things look pretty again. 

 

The night before had been far from pretty. The night before had been loud, tearful, dark, and ugly. A kind of ugly that made his insides feel like ice; made his lips tremble and his blunt nails claw gently at his sides. Just to feel something real. Something tangible. 

 

And the night before had been a desperate call to Jackson, who was probably disappointed when it wasn’t a booty call. But he calmed Mark down all the same, the way only he seemed to know how. He let Jackson go around 3 in the morning, but stayed awake until 4. Breathing. 

 

Slowly, he forced himself to sit up. His arms trembled as he used them to prop himself up. It was okay. It was okay. It was- 

 

He coughed. It was a rough and pretty disgusting sound. It hurt his throat. Mark felt around for his phone, eventually finding it somewhere near his pillow. There was four missed texts from Jinyoung, all about how Jackson had told him what happened, he wanted Mark to be safe, he wanted things to be different, he wanted to be called first next time, he wanted Mark to think of him before he thought of fucking Jackson Wang.

 

The last part put a numb feeling in Mark’s chest. He loved Jinyoung. They were best friends. He understood why Jinyoung wanted to be the first to help him. But it didn’t work like that. If he isn’t reaching out to Jackson, he’s reaching out to no one. It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t going to make sense. They’d talked about it before. 

 

He didn’t realize he was swiping to Jackson’s contact until he hit the green  _ call  _ button. It didn’t matter- Jackson probably wasn’t awake yet, anyway. 

 

_ “Hello?”  _

 

Jackson was awake. 

 

“Oh. Hi,” Mark replied robotically. 

 

_ “Wassup? You good?”  _ Jackson slurred through his sleepiness. It brought a smile to Mark’s face. 

 

“Yeah,” he said, stretching. “I just… just wanted to talk to you, I guess. I can let you go back to sleep if you want.” 

 

Jackson made some kind of groaning sound on the other line.  _ “Nah, I’m up. Wanna facetime?”  _ He looked over to the mirror hanging on his wall, squinting to see his reflection. Yikes. 

 

“No,” he said. Jackson snorted. 

 

_ “Okay,” _ he replied, and Mark could hear the smile in his voice. It made him feel warm. They talked for a while about nothing. Dumb shit like school assignments they weren’t going to do, being broke, being tired all the time, wanting to hold each other until the sun ran out of flames. They didn’t actually talk about that last one. Mark just thought about it the whole time. 

 

He wished Jackson was thinking about it, because he was so much better at saying what’s on his mind than Mark was. And God, Mark wanted to talk about it. He wanted to tell Jackson everything he thought about him. About how he hated not speaking in person because when they’re on the phone, there’s nothing he can do about the undeniable urge to run his hands through Jackson’s hair, no matter how fucked it is from all that bleach. About how he wanted to kiss every last ring on Jackson’s fingers, tug on every last chain around his neck. About how Jackson made him want to sing out loud with whatever the fuck it was he made him feel, and he  _ hated  _ singing. 

 

_ “Mark? What’s up?”  _

 

He flinched. “What?”

 

_ “You went quiet for a while. What are you thinking about?”  _

 

_ Tell him.  _ “Oh.”  _ Tell him.  _ “Nothing. Just spaced out.”  _ Tell him.  _ “Guess I’m tired.” 

 

_ “I feel that,”  _ Jackson sighed. 

 

“I said you could go back to sleep. It’s a Saturday.” He most definitely didn’t want him to go back to sleep. 

 

_ “Are you gonna go back to sleep?”  _ A pause.  _ “Didn’t think so. I’m already up, I’ll just power nap later. Keep talking to me.”  _

 

And then there was silence. 

 

_ “Mark.”  _

 

“Yeah?” 

 

_ “I meant  _ you  _ do the talking.”  _ Jackson was smiling again. 

 

Mark thought for a moment. He wanted to just say all the shit he was thinking about. He wanted to just- “You know Venice, Italy?” he said suddenly. There was another pause, and he figured that was his cue to go on. “I’ve always wanted to go there.” 

 

_ “Yeah?”  _

 

“Yeah.” He found himself turning again to the mirror on the opposite mirror. His eyes were so brown. “It’s really pretty there,” Mark said. 

 

_ “Is that the only reason you want to go?”  _

 

“No, no. It just.. Feels special to me. I don’t really know why. I did a project on it in 7th grade. Got a C on it. But, I don’t know.. It kind of meant something to me. I’m not making sense,” he trailed off. He couldn’t breathe. 

 

_ “Keep talking,”  _ Jackson said softly. 

 

Mark swallowed. “It’s known as the Floating City,” he said. “I guess I… I guess I want to float.” He felt stupid saying things like this out loud. Jackson probably thought he was corny. 

 

_ “I’m looking at pictures right now. It’s beautiful,”  _ Jackson breathed. It was.  _ “Did you know that it’s sinking?”  _ It was. 

 

Mark could feel himself grinning. “Yeah, it is. It sinks, like, a millimeter a year I think. I wish we’d be alive for when it does.”

 

_ “Why?”  _

 

“I want to be on it when it does.” 

 

_ “I thought you wanted to float. Do you want to sink?”  _

 

Now that was a loaded question, wasn’t it? He wanted to say his real answer. But it sounded dumb, even in his head. Jackson was going to think he was- “I’m sinking now,” he replied. Fuck. 

 

The mood shifted so intensely it practically moved the house. 

 

_ “Mark-”  _

 

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to think about that. Just.. I’m sinking now. Venice is like my.. My lifeboat. I mean, I’ve never been there, but I think about it when I feel like I’m- I’m drowning. And it makes me feel like I can breathe. In Venice, I float. Here, I sink. And when Venice goes under, I go with it.” Mark knew he was rambling. It was a rushed, scary mess. He didn’t know how Jackson would react to things like this.

 

_ “Mark.. That’s beautiful. That’s beautiful, and that’s scary.”  _ Jackson sounded breathless. 

 

“I’m sorry,” he choked. 

 

_ “No, don’t be, I just-”  _

 

Mark hung up. Mark hung up, and hyperventilated. Jesus fucking Christ, he felt so dumb. So dumb, and ugly, and corny, and desperate. 

 

His hands shook as he opened his front door and stumbled down the front steps, onto the sidewalk. He clutched his sides, rubbing and clawing at them through his jacket. The cold air felt like it was going straight to his heart and avoiding his lungs altogether. It burned his throat. 

 

As he walked hastily to his destination, he passed a corner that carried a faint smell of smoke. It reminded him of the boy that lived across from him, Bambam. He was, like, fourteen and completely idolized Mark. Without reason, of course, but it was still real. He stopped in his tracks and for a minute, thought about turning around. He thought about turning around and living, just for Bambam. 

 

But Mark kept walking. Maybe they’d just tell Bambam that he moved out or something. Or maybe he was old enough that he needed to just tough through it. Fuck. 

 

When he gathered his thoughts again, he was standing on the bridge. He ran his fingertips against the rough railing. He thought about driving across this bridge as a kid, half asleep from the road trip, and knowing that they were almost home. He thought about witnessing his first car crash here; how the smaller car had flipped and the driver barely escaped with her life. He thought about driving over this bridge the first day he got his license and clutching the steering wheel extra hard, terrified of running off of it. 

 

There was a sort of sweetness to this moment. This bridge was something familiar. Something he was supposed to see on his trips home for Christmas and think,  _ Oh, look at that.  _ Something he was supposed to drive over on his way to his new dorm. Something that he had known, and was supposed to know, and would know forever. Because he was going to jump off it. 

 

The railing was so cold under his touch. The water would be colder. Rougher. Easier. 

 

Mark took a deep breath. He had yet to catch his breath since this morning. He wondered if he wanted to die gasping for breath. He wondered if he was ready. If this was something he could handle. He figured dying should be the easiest thing a person could do. Most of the time. He hoped it was.

 

He went to grip the railing tighter and realized he’d been clawing at his wrist the whole time, and there was blood there now. “Fuck,” Mark whispered to himself. He wiped at it haphazardly with his sleeve. 

 

Lost in thought again, he prayed for Jackson. He prayed that he would be better without him. Prayed that Jackson would understand that there was nothing he could do. There was nothing anyone could do. He prayed that Jackson would still love him, even if he had to hate him for a while. Prayed that there would be things as good as Jackson after death. Prayed that Jackson would know everything Mark had ever thought about him. 

 

He opened his eyes and was met with the rippling, dark water. He wondered if he would sink. 

 

And then, he stumbled backward. Thinking of Jackson made him feel like he was coming up for air. Like the weight attached to his feet was temporarily lifted. Like he was breathing fresh oxygen for the first time in years. Thinking of Jackson made him feel like he was afraid to jump and sink. 

 

There was a terrible screech of tires behind him and he whipped around. Jackson leapt out of the car and visibly relaxed at the sight of him alive. “Mark! Mark, oh my God, Mark-”

 

“Jackson,” Mark breathed. Breathed. He came closer, enveloping Mark in the tightest hug he’d ever been part of. It was nice, but he had something to say. He pushed gently. “Jackson,” he said, his heart beating like it never had before. Jackson pulled back so he could see him, arms still tightly wound around his waist. Mark was smiling so genuinely, so excitedly. 

 

“Jackson, you’re Venice! You’re my Venice. Jackson, you’re my-” He cut himself off, hurriedly pressing their lips together. Jackson was so much warmer than the air around them. No sun could compare. “You’re my Venice,” Mark whispered, hands still cupping Jackson’s face. 

 

Jackson looked confused, but relieved. “What do you mean?” He pressed his forehead against Mark’s. “Fuck, don’t scare me like that again. What if I didn’t get here-” 

 

Mark kissed him again, smiling still. “You are my lifeboat. You..  _ You  _ make me feel like I’m floating.” He touched Jackson’s hair, because he really couldn’t resist it. The bleach made it feel disgusting and he didn’t care. 

 

Now, Jackson seemed to understand. He was speechless. “I love you. I love you.” He kissed Mark’s forehead, his cheeks, his jaw. “I love you.” 

 

He practically giggled, holding Jackson closer and whispering into his hair, “I love you too. So much.” 

 

They stood that way for a while before a passing driver stopped to see if their car had broken down. They thanked him but politely said that, no, their car was fine, shit had just gone down. They quickly got back in the car and steadily drove away from the bridge.

 

“How’d you know I was here?” Mark asked curiously, rubbing his thumb over Jackson’s free hand. 

 

“Tracked your phone,” Jackson sighed. He really did seem so.. Sincerely happy that Mark was alive. Mark’s brow furrowed in confusion.

 

“How’d you do that?”

 

At this, he laughed. “You won’t believe me. Uh, Snapchat. You left your location public.” 

 

There was a pause before Mark burst into laughter, snorting and giggling and gasping for air. Jackson laughed with him, squeezing his hand as they relieved the tension together. The weight had never felt so lifted. 

 

They drove to a Wendy’s and went through the drive thru, eventually parking and eating breakfast. It was still barely 8 in the morning. A soft, sweet song played on the radio. It sounded like a cross between a lullaby and a ballad. 

 

“Do you still want to go to Venice?” Jackson asked softly. 

 

Mark took a breath. It felt real, for once. He felt like he wasn’t gasping anymore. “Yeah,” he sighed, looking out the window thoughtfully. Slowly, he looked back to Jackson. “But you are enough to hold me over until then. Maybe forever. Who knows,” he said. 

 

For the rest of the morning, they floated. 

**Author's Note:**

> that was a lot of projecting, now wasn't it? more vent writing, i guess. i'm glad this is happy at the end, though. i'm sorry i haven't updated my other works, i've been going through it once again! rip!


End file.
